


Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof

by PeachDick



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, Eventual Romance, F/M, M/M, Medical Accuracy, Romance, Slow Burn, but cornbread dont go sideways in winter, heavymedic centric, im just a simple country boy, its world war 1 yaaah, listen yall- Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15195650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachDick/pseuds/PeachDick
Summary: In the middle of Eastern Europe, a German AWOl medic finds his purpose as a safehouse operator for refugees coming from gulags deep in Russian territory. He treats their wounds and sends them down a river to safer harbors away from the war. Doctor Ludwig is many things, but even with all this selfless humanitarian work, he wouldn't call himself a hero. Until he meets someone who does.





	1. In Which It Starts to Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the idea that wouldnt leave me alone until i fuckin wrote this! I have no idea where im going with this, so it's gonna be a bumpy road. my art/fic tungle is www.peachedrawing.tumblr.com

It was snowing. For the tenth time this week. That is to say, everything was perpetually cloaked in muted greyscale and objects far away were still hard to parse from behind his thick glasses. Today, rather than stay frozen, the ex-Field Medic could practically feel the rain coming. That would put a damper on his plans. He turns to his side, pulling the woolen hood around him closer as he whispers in Russian to the figures beside him on the cart. There was a family of three, a woman, her young daughter and her younger son. They all looked dangerously lean, and the woman had a limp to her he wishes he could diagnose and fix. It was probably a broken leg, and something she would probably not survive if they tarried. They had to move tonight, as the soldiers in the town would be bolstered again tomorrow night. The town was between them and freedom, as the woods surrounding them would be too dangerous. They needed to get through the town to the river. His friends on the river were beyond the town.

He rubs his chin as they approach, fiddling with the bag he packed with non perishables. He reminds his charges to keep their chin up, and let him do the talking, if and when they are stopped. The woman nods, pulling her children closer. Children are both a blessing and a curse in his field of work. Soldiers are usually less inclined to outright shoot at children up close, but they tended to slow one down. 

The few soldiers stationed at the tiny village look at him oddly as they approach the edge of town, but the bandages covering his upper face discouraged recognition or a closer look. He sighs, glad the woman had thought of that when the small family came to him for help. He’s going to have to use this more often. The river peeks out from behind the hill outside of town as it’s nearly iced over surface caught the mostly hidden sun’s rays. Looks like he’s going to have to pull out the cots in the coming weeks- soon that river is going to be nigh impossible to pass. 

His relief was shattered in a single gruff, smoke ravaged Russian sentence.

“ Извините?”  
‘[Excuse me?]’  
Apparently Russia was getting more careful, what with the threat of civil war held back only barely by the current war. The Bolsheviks are getting restless, and he supposes he will need to work on his russian to prepare for the looming influx of more refugees from the East. Ludwig turns slowly, glancing the soldier up and down warily. He coughs, getting his accent under control before speaking. 

“Да?” He moves subtly to block the woman and her children behind him, fear lodging in his throat. 

“[You dropped this]” he speaks slowly, a Polish accent peeking out of his words. The soldier brushes snow from yarn hair and hands the woman a small, dirty doll. He nods to Ludwig, who had gone ridged, hand protectively pushing the small girl behind him. A small breath exits him subconsciously, and the thought ‘I am getting too old for this’ goes through his head like lightning as the man smiles at the little girl.   
“Удачи.”   
‘[Good luck]’  
It was barely over a whisper, but it hit Ludwig like a steam train out of London. He blinks, wide-eyed at the soldier’s retreating back. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shaky breath-- nearly missing the small laugh from the woman. He chances a small smile at her in return. However, he can’t keep the panic from setting his jaw; that was way too close, and that conversation was much too lucky for Ludwig. 

It’s turning a darker shade of grey when he gets the small family to the river, true relief flooding him when he notices the group of Americans laughing at a crude wooden table outside the mostly rotting away boat barn. He laughs as they notice them, the lankiest of the three jumping up and causing a geyser of playing cards to shoot up.   
“Oh, you’re still here, thank God!” Jeremy punches him in the shoulder, grinning his face off as the medic staggers backwards. “‘Course we are! Couldn't leave without seeing our favorite runnaway doctor, yeah?” Ludwig snorts derisively, rolling his eyes. “Right, like that one time in May, last year-” Jeremey, or Scout, as he’s been affectionately referred to, makes a grand show of taking offense to the doctor’s statement.  
“Listen chump that was one time, and it was cause we just started anyway! Now we’s the best in the business, right Jane?” Jane perks up after collecting all the cards from the ground, jogging over to greet them. “Of course we are, soldier! We’ve always been the best, and we will continue being the best until the end of time!” the soldier salutes, almost comically. Jeremy cackles and leads the way back to the table, sitting on an upside down bucket with a sigh. “So, just three this time? Are ya getting rusty or somethin?”  
Dell leads the family inside the boat house, telling them the plan in surprisingly good Russian. Ludwig sighs deeply, removes his glasses to rub his temples. He looks up in time to see the little girl peeking from inside the boat house as Dell exits. The doctor gives the little girl a small, reassuring smile before he answers Jeremy. “Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof, Jeremy. The Russians are deporting more and more people, so I don’t doubt we’ll be seeing more soon.”

Dell sits back down with a sigh too, hand going to the old guitar sitting next to him against the barn. He doesn't pick it up just yet. “Ludwig, the lady’s got a leg wound. I’m sure Mick knows someone upstream but I-” the medic holds up his hands, unwrapping his head before replying. “Of course I will, Dell. I just needed to get them here before those soldiers come knocking on my door tomorrow.” He pats the ex-engineer’s back lightly before ducking inside and getting to work, speaking softly in Russian as he treats the woman’s wound with what he can. Jane heats some canned meat over some coals, careful to not make much smoke as Scout attempts to rake some cash from Dell- who had the young boy in his arms and cards in the other. 

It was dark when the family was fed and when Ludwig was done tending to them. He instructed the woman to be extremely careful and to try to get as much rest as possible. She was nervous with Dell holding her child, but Ludwig reassured her. “[He has children at home, so your little one is in capable hands- I’d trust him with mine, if I had any]” She prods him in the side, causing a rather undignified snort to erupt from him, to which they both laughed at, .   
“[You don’t have children, Dr Ludwig]?”   
“[Never had the inclination, unfortunately.]” He stands after a pause, patting the rotting hay from his coat, and rewrapping the bandages back around his head. He bids her goodbye and good luck in her mother tongue, just as the rain starts. Of course it would start just as he’s leaving. Dell ducks inside the barn before the baby got wet, and Jeremy is right on his heels. “Jane agreed to be first watch, he’s ‘re-establishing our perimeter’ as we speak.” Ludwig grunts quietly in reply , pulling his hood back over his head. “Listen doc- just… be careful. We’re heading out at dawn, so the soldiers should not arrive until after we’re gone. Be careful, you got it?” Dell hands Ludwig a parcel of letters before clapping the taller on the shoulder. A fond smile steals over the older man’s face. “Aren't I always, Dell?” he pushes up his round glasses with two fingers and starts the hike through the woods back to his home.


	2. The One With the Schrapnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> listen I know what her nickname sounds like but just say it in a Russian accent in your head its fine

The walk home was miserable, as it usually was. Wet, cold, snowy and muddy. All in all, the snow on the trees made his throat tighten with homesickness for a moment. Ludwig briefly thought about trenchfoot to distract himself. Gross. He really does not regret defecting, honestly. He shook his head and looked up from where he was staring at his feet to keep his face from being bombarded by snowflakes. There it was, his home. The rundown, two story house out in the middle of the woods was given to him by the woman who owned it previously. She never told Ludwig her name, just insisted he call her Mutti. Mutti was a german immigrant to the area, and helped Ludwig after he defected from the German army. He had walked and hitchhiked his way across Eastern Europe, and finally found help at the tiny hostel she ran. Mutti found him nearly dead in the woods, starving and freezing slowly to death. The woman brought him home and nursed him to health. She taught him to cook and gave him a place to sleep, Ludwig helped sick refugees and did various odd jobs around the place while she ran the hostel/safe house. She was a almost a cliche; she was strong, kind and patient enough to handle Ludwig in his wild mood swings. She had died of a lung sickness a few months after Ludwig got there, but the friendship she and the doctor shared had grown to be quite close even in that short while.

Her last wish was for the doctor to keep helping people, even if he could no longer keep the hostel open. The months Ludwig spent working with her . So, he ran it more safehouse than a paying hostel. The garden flourished, there was plenty of wood and game to hunt in the woods, and it was far enough from town that nobody really ever bothered his illegal slice of heaven. Except for when there was troop movement in the area. Sometimes, about once every few months, the Russians moved troops through the woods into the town on the way to the Eastern Front. Ludwig usually only got warning from his American friends if the movement was particularly large or from refugees who saw the trucks on the way to his home. This time around, he was lucky. He would have a long night of cleaning on top of his usual chores before he could turn in for the nigh-

There was a light on in the kitchen. A flickering, single candle, only interrupted by a large shadow that moved quickly in front of it and away. Shit. His rifle was sitting on the kitchen counter, he put it there this morning after checking and cleaning it the previous evening. Had the soldiers come sooner than he expected? That would be impossible, the snow and rain should- if anything- only delayed the troop movements. Who the hell was in his home? Shit. Ludwig takes a deep breath. Just play it cool, like you usually do. They could just be refugees that assumed the house was abandoned… or it could be forward scouts raiding his home for supplies. He calmly takes the two stairs up to the door, opening it with a deft turn of the lock. He pulls his hood off his head and steps in. He takes another careful step, only to be met with a terrifying glimpse of the shadow before a pain blooms behind his ears and his world goes dark, bundle of letters falling from his hands.

 

He wakes up slowly, groaning as his head pounds. He is first aware of the sock in his mouth, then his inability to bring a hand to his head. Ludwig deduces that he must be tied to his favorite kitchen chair, and the strangeness of the situation is not lost on him. He opens his eyes as he becomes aware of muffled Russian arguing. There are four figures sitting around the table. His stomach gives out as he notices the largest one, easily several heads taller and broader than him. Fighting them off is most definitely out. Damn, his head hurts. They speak in Russian, and Ludwig isn't able to keep up. Something about horses? That doesn’t sound right… one of his captors, a woman with short brown hair under a winter hat stands suddenly and slams her hand on the table.   
“[Enough! For the last time, let us just ask the poor man who he is. This is getting utterly ridiculous- I still do not understand why Yana had to hit the man! He clearly could not defeat us in combat, even with Misha’s wounds-” She stops, taking a deep breath before walking to where Ludwig was tied to the chair. She gently removes the sock from his mouth, allowing the doctor to wet his lips and recover before addressing him in surprisingly good english.   
“You know english, yes?” her eyebrow goes up quizzically, hands on her hips and stance wide. She looks him in the eyes as he replies.   
“... J- yes. I do. But-” She cuts him off sharply, “No. I will be asking questions first. You do not sound Russian, little man. Why are you here? It would be healthy for you to tell the truth.” Ludwig takes a moment, mind racing. He decides he quite agrees with the woman’s diagnosis, and tells the shortened truth.  
“I- I’m from Germany. I defected from the military and now I live here. I’ve been smuggling refugees from the east across the warzone for about two years now” She seems to consider the man for a moment before replying. That moment felt like years, but he sighs with relief at her reply.  
“I am impressed with your honesty, little man. Honesty is the best policy, no?” She turns partially to the other three. The largest of his captors seems to be a man in his early thirties, bald and with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. The other two are women, one nearly as broad as the man with long black hair and the other is a dirty blonde who seems to be aimed at being just as broad as the man and the woman someday. The blonde speaks up in Russian, “[Bronie is right, this man could not hurt us if he tried. Let’s just untie him so he can tell us where he keeps the vodka for brother’s shoulder.]” Bronie makes eye contact with the man, opening her mouth to speak before Ludwig interupts her in Russian as well. 

“[I do not know who you are, but I am a doctor. If your brother is hurt, please let me care for him. My job is to help people like you, please. You can call me Ludwig- but please untie me. My hands are going numb]” They all turn to him, startled at his grasp of their mother tongue. Bronie starts to laugh before moving behind him to untie the distressed man. He apparently had said the right thing, because his hands come free in moments. “Ach, please forgive us. We have been running for a long time and are very tired of bad men.” The brother starts to protest, but he winces and clutches his shoulder as his sister fixes him with a glare. As soon as Ludwig’s feet are free, he goes to the large man’s side, holding his hands up as the man flinches away.  
“Please, sir. Remove your hand from the-” The man growls before his sister Bronie snaps at him with a Russian phrase Ludwig doesn’t recognize. The other two snicker at him as the brother’s face goes pink and he removes his hand. Ludwig, confused but determined, glances over the seeping wound for only a few moments before insisting they move to his office. “The damage is deep and there is serious danger of sepsis if I do not disinfect the wound soon. Please, follow me” he explains, using his doctor voice to reap calm in the wounded man. 

Once Bronie manages to convince the large man to follow Ludwig to his office, Ludwig instructs the man to sit on a chair as he gathers some supplies and pushes the women from the room and pointing them to the kitchen and the pantry. “Please! I need room to work, and your brother is already taking up much of the space! Rause!” He gets to work, cutting away the man’s shirt and administering a small dose of morphine to the man’s left shoulder, just above the wound. Within seconds, the torn tissue relaxed, and Ludwig got to work. It was a shrapnel wound stretching from his shoulder around to just above the pectoral muscles. Doctor immediately go to work digging shards of metal from the wound, talking the whole time. The habit of idle prattle was useful, especially when dealing with pained patients like he did so often. The morphine would definitely help, but when someone is digging in your shoulder for shrapnel it helps to have something to chuckle at. 

Ludwig had just finished telling the still rather wary man about that time Scout fell into the river when it froze over last winter when he finishes digging around. The large man had a small, smile on his face when Ludwig described Jeremy’s expression when they got him out of the water. Ludwig comments on this, telling him “You should smile more, sir. You are quite handsome when you do.” just as he starts spraying the wound with stolen Dakin solution, his eyes only briefly glancing at the man’s face, hoping he did not go too far. This causes the man to jump from both the sharp pain of the disinfectant and the statement itself. “Do not know what you mean, doctor, I am handsome always” Ludwig snorts, surprised that his patient finally responded to him, an easy smile on his own face. “Oh, I noticed! Now, hold still, I am going to wrap this up, and then I’ll put on something to eat. Sound good?” The large Russian nods gripping the chair and setting his jaw. The pain sparks up only when Ludwig has to pack some parts of the wound with solution soaked gauze before wrapping the big man’s shoulder in more gauze. “This will take awhile to heal, sir, and I have minimized your chance of gangrene to almost zilch, but the dressings must be changed everyday, and I-” the man cuts him off, standing and placing a huge hand on Ludwig’s own shoulder. “You have my thanks, doctor.” He turns to duck out of the room, but pauses for a moment. “Mikhail. Please, call me Mikhail”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look me up next time you're in town at www.peachedrawing.tumblr.com I post art occasionally

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter we meet someone new!


End file.
